


Atlas

by aijee



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Mix & Match, Pre-debut, Soulmate marks, Triple Kim - Freeform, WIN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9257219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aijee/pseuds/aijee
Summary: “Hyung, how much do you love me?”The question is sudden and unexpected at 2:17 AM, and Jinhwan thinks Bobby’s starting to have a bad influence on Hanbin.(Or: Jinhwan has never been the superstitious type, but Hanbin makes love worth believing in.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is a severe lack of Binhwan fics on the Internet, let alone this site. So I thought: why not make my first official fanfiction contribution a Binhwan one?
> 
> (Some parts are taken directly from WIN, other parts I just made up.)

 Jinhwan found out about soul marks from his sister.

He was six years old when the world still blurred at the edges, and she at a budding twelve with the sky in her eyes and love in her ears. One warm night in Jeju, they sat on the rooftop of their house, gazing at the stars until Jinhwan caught site of something strange on his sister’s arm.

 _“_ _What_ _'_ _s_ _that_ _?”_ had escaped his mouth like a curious bullet before his mind could catch up.

_“This, Jinhwan-ah, is the link to my soulmate.”_

 

 

 

Jinhwan has never been the superstitious type.

He’d much rather watch paint dry than indulge his gushing classmates every time a new soul mark showed up, which was, like, _every few days guys shut up_. Honestly, the only thing remotely interesting about the marks is how mysterious the variety seemed to be; they ranged from symbols to seemingly arbitrary numbers to actual names.

For the slightest moment, a mere _speck_ of a time-slice he emphasizes, he wonders what his would look like, wonders whether it will be bizarre or even worthy of attention.

_I hope it’s cool-looking. A fire-breathing dragon? No, maybe a star—_

Shaking his head, Jinhwan decides that, whatever the case is, this fad is one he just doesn’t have the energy for.

(“Hey, Kim Jinhwan, don't you know anything about love? You're just jealous because you don't have a mark yet.”

“Jinny-ah, aren't you at least curious about what yours would look like? Or who your soulmate could be?”

“Not really. Besides—”)

Love comes naturally, after all. Jinhwan may be young and immature, but if there's one thing he’s going to be firm about, it's that.

So when he wakes up one morning with “B.I” on the side of his ring finger, printed neatly in simple, black lettering, he doesn’t think twice about it.

He just spits out a slush of toothpaste and morning breath into the sink, brushes his bedhead into a more presentable shape, and prepares himself for the grueling school day ahead.

Jinhwan finds his mother staring out their kitchen window, lost in what seems like a sweet reverie. She wears a gentle smile he remembers seeing on his sister long ago.

“It's really nice out for winter today, isn't it? The sun is shining so brightly, as if to celebrate something, like the birth of a new day.”

“I guess… Hey, Mom, where I can find the bandages?”

 

 

 

Somewhere between the humble graduation of his sister and short-lived jobs of his father, Jinhwan finds himself swept into the stormy arms of one of the biggest entertainment companies in all of South Korea.

To be honest, he never would've expected that someone as ordinary as him, with a voice he can only describe as “an acquired taste,” would be accepted into the same YG that produced and polished some of Korea’s biggest entertainment deities.

“Life is a game of survival, and this is your opportunity to win,” Mr. Yang tells the fresh batch of January trainees, each one the epitome of talent, entertainment, and beauty hand-plucked from the finest corners of the world. Jinhwan feels unbearably insignificant. “Work hard, be ambitious, and never stop dreaming. Welcome to YG Entertainment.”

As soon as the CEO leaves the training room, Jinhwan unlocks his rigid spine and releases a shaky breath in chorus with the other trainees. The room is thick with adrenaline and ambition in their purest, most untouched forms, and it takes all of Jinhwan’s strength to keep his throat from constricting – from suffocating him before the heaviness of the atmosphere does.

He may have signed up for this, but dear _god_ he didn't sign up for _this_.

It’s only the first day and actual practice doesn't start until tomorrow, but he can feel an unsettling number of eyes on him as the trainees size each other up, boyishly assessing one another as instructors usher them around for introductions.

At some point, Jinhwan walks backwards into someone who definitely feels just as tense as he is. Jinhwan jerks forward and turns around at the sudden contact, apology at the ready, and then _– oh_.

The kid looks young, but not unbelievingly so like some others. His black snapback is crooked over his messy hair, and his clothes are baggy on his puffed-out, almost dutiful teenage frame. His nose is a kind of big, but Jinhwan blinks the trivial detail away. Nothing seems particularly outstanding about whoever this is.

Then Jinhwan sees it.

That face every definition of sharp, intense, and fiercely determined, but within the intensity is an overwhelming magnetism unlike anything Jinhwan’s ever felt before. This kid exudes a charisma beyond his external presentation, perhaps beyond what this kid will ever realize. And yet, almost paradoxically so, he’s still tinged with an innocent, adventurous naïveté somehow tethering them both to their lackluster reality.

The kid’s eyes are terribly deep and dark with a warmth akin to childish wonder. Like polished marbles flecked with gold, they sparkle as if he’d captured pockets of the galaxy itself inside artfully spun glass. They overflow with a molten sort of tenacity, one with the strength of the Earth and sky and more packaged into this, what, fourteen- or fifteen-year-old?

This kid is raw with whatever stars are made of, and it's breathtaking up close.

“Sorry,” says the trainee, hand on his neck in embarrassment. “I wasn't really looking where I was going. I’m Kim Hanbin. I want to be a rapper.”

“My apologies as well. I’m Kim Jinhwan. I want to be a vocalist. Have we– have you been on TV before?”

“Ah, yes I was. I featured in a couple of MC Mong’s singles and music videos.”

“No wonder I feel like we’ve met before! Kinda. Anyway, it’s nice meeting you, Hanbin.”

They shake hands and move on like everyone else, but Jinhwan doesn’t stop picking at his bandaged finger for the rest of the day.

(Only later does Jinhwan realize that it isn’t the stormy arms of YG he is swept into; it’s Hanbin’s.)

 

 

 

Over the next few days, Jinhwan learns some things.

One: there’s a “natural swagger” to his dancing, according to his dance trainer. It’s surprising, to say the least, especially for someone of a softer and more delicate stature like him, but the feedback is certainly not unwelcome.

Two: if this singing thing doesn't work, at least the food is great. (Kimchi jiggae for days.)

“I’m sorry, Hanbin-ah.”

Three: dealing with fireballs is dangerous, but it isn’t unbearable.

When he and Hanbin are paired for the rest of the week, Jinhwan doesn't mind. In fact, he’s sure that no other trainee can handle this 164-centimeter bundle bursting at the seams with turbulent nerves and a terribly desperate yearning to be the star he’s destined to be. Hanbin has the weight of Mr. Yang’s personal recruitment on his shoulders, after all.

(“The CEO wanted him after seeing that joke of a performance? Pft.”

“I know, right? I can rap so much better than he can.”

“Does he think he’s a favorite or something? Ha! What a loser.”)

Call it maternal instinct, but there's something about Hanbin and his petulant genius that compels Jinhwan to look after him, to care for him, to become an expert at mitigating the storm that comes with being around Kim Hanbin. Entertainment is a cutthroat world, and everyone needs someone to lean on – even fireballs.

“I’ll do it again, Hanbin-ah. I’ve already watched the recordings, so I know what to fix. But how about some food first?”

When he finds that Hanbin had spent the last hour turning frustration into productivity in the recording room, Jinhwan, with an apology and placating promise to smooth things over, presents a plastic bag of snacks with a small wiggle and big smile.

Hanbin looks up at him, expression an amusing combination of self-righteousness and regretful confusion. Jinhwan’s words seem foreign in their native language. But as quickly as he looked up, latching onto Jinhwan’s placid eyes, Hanbin looks away.

The cursory glances, the barrier building, the hesitation – maybe Hanbin knows how dangerous it is to stare into the eyes of a star, so he saves his hyung the medical bills out of courtesy. Any longer than a blink of a moment could blind Jinhwan, engulf him in flames and mar his flesh with irreversible burns like battle scars you’d only ever see in history books or on war veterans. Jinhwan is neither of those, but maybe he will be one day.

Biting his lip, Hanbin eventually mumbles out, “What’d you get?”

 _I’_ _m_ _sorry_ _for_ _getting angry._

“Your favorites. Duh.”

 _It’_ _s_ _okay_ _._

Hanbin shuffles over to the couch, eyeing Jinhwan as he unpacks his convenience store spoils. “Your expression is also really bland when the beat drops,” Hanbin adds softly, obviously guilty but still filing it away behind his YG pride.

Jinhwan stops to stare at Hanbin, meeting his gaze for hardly a second before the latter drops his eyes again, this time to his lap, with cheeks the barest shade of red. His hand is clamped on his neck again; it’s a cute habit Jinhwan picked up on whenever Hanbin is embarrassed or anxious.

Then Jinhwan laughs, and laughs, and _laughs_.

Hanbin is so many things at once, you’d expend several lifetimes just trying to count. Seeing him lapse into someone actually his age – be it through mistakes he admits in code, or the rare times he calls Jinhwan “hyung” almost affectionately despite the criticism preceding it – is a phenomenon Jinhwan is glad he has the opportunity to witness.

As he reaches over to ruffle Hanbin’s hair, there’s a burgeoning smile on his dongsaeng’s face that pulls Jinhwan’s grin even wider. “I know. I’ll work on that, too. But _you_ need to work on taking a break and eating, yeah?”

It's weird how well Jinhwan can handle him. It’s only been a few days, but sometimes he thinks he’s been doing it forever.

But when Hanbin holds a chocolate out to him, eyes bravely boring into Jinhwan's with the hesitant confidence of an actual fourteen-year-old, Jinhwan thinks fondly, _I guess I still have more to learn._

(“Ew hyung! You could've just used your fingers to take the chocolate instead of using your _mouth!”_

“But where's the fun in that? Live a little! Here, let me toss you one and you catch it in _your_ mouth.”

“What, hyung— w-wait! _I’_ _m_ _not_ _ready_ _yet_ _—_ ”)

And, honestly, Jinhwan doesn't mind.

 

 

 

His and Hanbin’s little microcosm is breached just a week later when Bobby (“Jiwon’s my Korean name, but Ultra Mega King of the Universe also works!”) rolls around like a fireball in his own right. He’s more bright and light and full of sparks compared to Hanbin, who is all touchy temperatures and forest fires.

But Bobby takes everything in similarly fiery stride, leaving Hanbin either absolutely miffed or with a lopsided smile that adds a new dimension to his already complicated personality. Somehow, Bobby brings out the best in Hanbin’s proud, competitive character without losing face at the occasional “Han-bomb.” Jinhwan thinks it’s actually quite impressive.

After two more weeks of enduring Hanbin’s searing perfectionism and Jinhwan’s serious mothering, Bobby has become the endless energy source for their even slicker dynamic. Only someone fueled purely on his mother’s love can do that.

As Jinhwan watches Bobby wrestle Hanbin into the sweat-stained floor of the training room, he catches the heart-lifting smile Hanbin sends in silent SOS, one Jinhwan smiles back at instead of moving because _no_ he’s not going to be sandwiched in _that_.

At the sound of a defeated groan and victorious howl, Jinhwan silently thanks Bobby for showing Hanbin what it means to have fun in a business so starved of it.

Yes, Hanbin is a firestorm in all senses of the word, even more so now that Bobby is around, but he’s still the same warmth Jinhwan faced the first day they met, one that always settles almost nostalgically in Jinhwan’s stomach.

 

 

 

But Bobby isn't perfect. Jinhwan and Hanbin would've laughed at any notion suggesting he was.

There are many instances supporting this: Bobby's annoying habit of swinging around sweaty tank tops, his chronic shirtlessness, shouting, conveniently forgetting his wallet and asking Jinhwan or Hanbin to pay for food _for the dozenth time you jerk_ – the list goes on.

But his worst offense, in Jinhwan’s opinion, is his intrusive presence. He often makes it a point to be _there_ , whether Jinhwan likes it or not.

They finished their first monthly evaluation just a few hours ago, a milestone that, scarily enough, marks their “official” entrance into YG. Hanbin has unsurprisingly collapsed onto the couch without showering (Jinhwan takes a mental note to get him into pajamas later), and it’s almost three in the morning when Bobby pops the question:

“Where’s your soul mark, hyung?”

He asks from their small dining room table as Jinhwan takes out some rice triangles from the cupboard. The ceiling lamp sizzles, faintly singing along with Hanbin’s tired snores.

“You’re not going to comment on my accidental hat drop during the dance?” Jinhwan asks with a laugh as he settles in front of Bobby.

Bobby shrugs, ripping open the plastic-wrapped snack and inhaling its contents _._ “You did fine. Even the instructor said you just needed to get used to people watching you perform.”

“Not the voice crack either?”

“Practice, practice, practice. Anyway, where is it? What’s it look like?”

Jinhwan scrunches up his face because _really_ , “Why do you need to know?”

Bobby actually has the audacity to look offended. “I haven't seen it yet.”

“And you would need to?”

“You’ve seen mine!”

“You're shirtless all the time. How could I not see it?”

“Has Hanbin seen yours? I bet he has.”

“He hasn’t.”

Bobby huffs, disgruntled but undeterred. “This is an unfair imbalance in our friendship that must be corrected immediately. I can’t go on living like this. Tell me, hyung _._ This is a matter of _dire importance.”_

Jinhwan snorts and opens up the sodas. “‘Matter of dire importance’? Why is that?”

“Because you’re hot.” The reason is suspiciously simple, garbled under a mouthful of rice and spicy beef. “I want to know my boundaries.”

“Doesn’t stop you from flirting with the trainee I was checking out yesterday,” Jinhwan counters, eyes crinkled. “Anyway, mine’s really ordinary. Not really interesting to look at.”

“They’re _all_ interesting. They connect you to your soulmate, after all.”

“You actually believe in that?”

“Of course!” Bobby exclaims, wounded that Jinhwan would even ask. Then his normally excitable voice drops to something reverent. “Everyone deserves a bit of a fairy tale in their lives, don't you think?”

Jinhwan indulges in contemplating the statement. He looks at Bobby and sees the sincerity in his eyes, in his calm expression, in the tender smile surrounded by his angular features. For a moment, Jinhwan actually wonders if there’s room for a fairy tale in this dog-eat-dog world.

Bobby places his hand on Jinhwan’s wrist, touch and pleading stare disconcertingly gentle. “Please?”

“Jiwon…”

Now, if Jinhwan is as smart as he claims himself to be, then he won't give in to Bobby’s charms. He’ll continue keeping his mark from seeing the light of day, and he’ll stop himself from disturbing any waters that should remain untouched.

But _damnit_ he's still young and “hyung” is a title that still doesn't quite fit him yet and he just isn't prepared for Bobby’s sappy and genuine side this early in their friendship.

No matter what older Jinhwan tries to think, he can't change the fact that younger Jinhwan slides his hand from under Bobby’s. Older Jinhwan can't change how Bobby’s look of excitement becomes one of realization when he sees Jinhwan gracelessly remove the bandage on his ring finger, as if skeptical to show a scar that never disappears.

He’s definitely going to regret this later.

“B…I?”

“Good, you can read.”

“The fuck’s _‘_ _B.I’_ supposed to mean?”

“Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you,” Jinhwan answers dryly before quickly covering up the letters. “Go to sleep, Jiwon.”

“B.I? Like BO? Is your soulmate going to be _smelly_ all the time?”

“What? That doesn’t even make sense—”

“Maybe if you studied _English_ —”

“Can you clean up? I’m going to shower. And carry Hanbin to his bedroom, will you?”

“Why don’t you love me as much as Hanbinnie?”

“Because he doesn’t pester me about private things.”

_And because he’s Hanbin._

At that harmless statement, Bobby gives him this ominous, empty look that makes Jinhwan’s skin prickle. Then Bobby leaves without another quip or comment or even a last laugh, which is probably as bad of an omen as it gets.

 

 

 

“Hyung, I’m thinking of using a stage name for our group.”

“You’re awake?”

“Barely. Someone was also taking off my pants.”

“I was trying to help  _someone_ who should be _asleep_ into his pajamas.”

“If I debut, wouldn’t it be cool to have a stage name?”

“I suppose? Lift.” _Fwump._ “There. Okay. I swear the shirt was around here somewhere…”

“A name that represents me, what I want to be and who I am.”

“Is it here? Oh, maybe it’s over there…”

“How does B.I sound? I've used it before.”

“Yeah, cool, sounds great– do you know where your pajama shirt went?”

“Like _be_ and _I_ together. Yeah, B.I… Hopefully sajangnim will like it…”

“Found it! …wait, what’d you say? Hanbin-ah?”

 

 

 

Hanbin holds off on telling Bobby until the heat waves of the blistering summer come rolling in, and Jinhwan likes to think that it’s a smart move, at least for their own good. Earlier on, Bobby probably would’ve make fun of Hanbin for being “so fuckin’ _cute_ ” even if the following reaction wouldn't be. Then he'd start making Jinhwan’s life unnecessarily more difficult by dropping land mines like the sadist Bobby is.

But when Hanbin brings it up, fully-conscious this time, Bobby…doesn't do anything of the sort.

He just sort of nods, grins his big goofy grin, and tells Hanbin, “That’s just like you, Hanbinnie. Sounds really cool.”

Jinhwan doesn't know who’s more taken aback: him or Hanbin.

As they leave the trainee building that evening, Jinhwan doesn't miss the purposeful shove Bobby gives him at the entrance. And he _definitely_ doesn't miss the smirk Bobby sends him before easing into mindless recountings about the expired milk he downed that morning, much to Hanbin’s amused disgust.

Jinhwan tries to miss the buzzing heat pooling at the tips of his fingers and ears, tries to miss the way it migrates to his cheeks and chest and limbs.

But this only marks one of the many failures his life seems to be riddled with.

 

 

 

Fast forward to April 2012. All three of them are surprised they're still here, together, and breathing the air of same sweaty training rooms they first entered more than a year ago. They've seen trainees come and go, some trials and others major errors, but none who have clicked the way the three of them have.

It’s been a while since the staff tried shoving a trainee into their bastion, but now before them stand two more poor souls. One is a throaty, deep-voiced “giant baby”, as Bobby calls him, named Goo Junhoe. The other is an out-of-tune, rhythm-less and wide-eyed wannabe actor named Song Yunhyeong.

“So you can sing, but your attitude sucks,” Bobby says to Junhoe, then to Yunhyeong, “and you seem nice, but you can't do shit.”

Jinhwan forces a budding chuckle down at the outpouring of daggers from Junhoe’s glare. He’s definitely too young to look this scary. On the other hand, both trainees latch onto Jinhwan’s smile as if it were a saving grace, which is often a true enough comparison.

“I can cook?” Yunhyeong offers sheepishly, and Jinhwan definitely chuckles this time.

“Cooking isn't going to get you anywhere if you can’t sing without sounding like a dying goat,” Hanbin comments flatly beside Jinhwan, at which Jinhwan prepares to elbow him. But then Hanbin stands up, walks towards the two trainees, and continues, “We can work on that. We can work on both of you. But if you’re serious and want be a part of this team, then you listen to what we say – especially me. Got it?”

Junhoe stares down at Hanbin, previously dour expression drawn to a blank, while Yunhyeong unsuccessfully swallows down a lump in his throat.

It’s always been like this, Hanbin intimidating the new meat as his first test. Jinhwan almost always has a hopeless feeling about them.

But then he sees a fire in Junhoe's eyes that reminds him of Hanbin. He sees the strength in Yunhyeong’s stance, the impenetrable brightness in his aura, that reminds him of Bobby.

They both nod silently before Hanbin throws them into the depths of training hell, but when he does, Jinhwan thinks this might actually work out.

 

 

 

November of the same year, Hanbin makes someone cry.

It’s not an unusual occurrence, but when it’s Donghyuk, things are different.

No one can deny that he’s one of the better dancers they’ve seen, but his gentle personality is to a fault. Out of all the trainees the original three have met thus far, Donghyuk lacks the hardness and intimidation needed in a hip-hop performance group the most. They sometimes wonder how someone like him was filtered into YG of all places; they wonder why the company had to throw him into _their_ group.

Jinhwan also knows that today just isn’t one Hanbin has the patience for. Hanbin’s voice is particularly sharp, shoulders sharper, and voice razor-edged. Jinhwan and Bobby have already drilled Yunhyeong and Junhoe into swallowing Hanbin’s medicine pill criticisms, but Donghyuk is still inexperienced and as delicate as his voice.

When it trembles for what seems like the millionth time during practice, something finally snaps in Hanbin before Jinhwan can process anything.

Jabbing a finger in Donghyuk’s face, Hanbin’s words come out like gunshots. “For god’s sake, what is _wrong?_ How hard is it to hold a note? Weren’t you a JYP trainee before? Did you just slack off and not learn anything about voice training there? Is that why you aren’t there anymore? I’m so tired of this. We should’ve finished learning this performance this days ago. _Jesus Christ_ , I’m taking a break.”

Both Hanbin’s and Donghyuk’s faces have turned red for completely different reasons. Hanbin heaves a guttural sigh and stalks out the room, steps heavy with purpose after the close of the door.

There’s no surprise in the softness of Donghyuk’s tears, in the way he sniffles quietly into Bobby’s shoulder. Junhoe and Yunhyeong settle onto the floor, facial expressions dulled in empathy.

Normally, Jinhwan would take Hanbin’s frustrations with goodwill and submission, knowing that Hanbin’s drive for success is simply getting the best of him. But just as Hanbin’s patience has been running abnormally thin, so has Jinhwan’s, especially when it involves a good kid like Donghyuk. He doesn’t hesitate to follow Hanbin down the hall to the outdoor staircase.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Jinhwan tersely shoots the moment he sees his supposed leader. “Usually your criticisms are constructive, but that was just plain rude! I know you’re frustrated – we all are – but you really stepped out of line this time. Who knows what happened in his past? We _don’_ _t_ , and it's not our place to assume. We were all like Donghyuk once, so cut the kid some slack, will you?”

“Who gave me slack when I first became a trainee here, huh?” Hanbin seethes, eyes angry yet unrelentingly miserable. “No one was there to cut me any slack! I was criticized, insulted, and gossiped about. I was kicked around and yelled at until I got things right. That’s how it works around here. So why should anyone get special treatment from me? You’ve become too lenient, hyung.”

“Maybe I have,” Jinhwan concedes. Then he steps towards Hanbin and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Or maybe you’ve just become more merciless. You’re trying too hard to live up to sajangnim’s expectations, or perhaps what you think they are. You’re turning into him.”

“I’m not—”

“You _are_. But you’re also the brightest, most hard-working person I know. You’ve achieved so much with just your bare hands. But there’s no point in any of that if you’re not the leader your members can follow without shame. Being in YG doesn’t mean becoming a shadow of the company. There’s a difference between firmly instructing and outright attacking others. You’re smart enough to know which one you did just now.”

Hanbin looks up from the shadow of his snapback, eyes filled a deep-rooted sorrow that makes Jinhwan’s chest sting a hundred different ways. But they both realize and understand the inevitability of this confrontation.

“I have always supported you, and will continue to support you. No matter what, I will follow you with my entire being.” Jinhwan squeezes Hanbin’s shoulder. “But you need to show the rest of the team they should as well. That starts with knowing when you need to apologize.”

Jinhwan grants Hanbin a smile, the comforting kind he likes to give, and something changes in the way Hanbin looks at him. His gaze becomes lighter, more honest, yet still strong, warm, and stubborn in a way that’s _so_ amusingly Hanbin. Pride has crumbled and given way to penitence, and vulnerability never looked so arresting.

Hanbin pulls his hyung into a tight embrace, hands settled shakily on Jinhwan’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. Jinhwan feels his shoulder growing wet. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. But I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

Later on, Hanbin decides to treat the team to anything they want from the nearby convenience store.

Of course, Donghyuk is too shy to ask for anything. So when Hanbin hands Donghyuk his favorite canned coffee and ice cream (which Donghyuk only mentioned in passing, mind you), there’s a bounce to Donghyuk’s step and voice that envelops everyone with a sense of peace like no other.

“He just has that effect on people,” Bobby says to Jinhwan and Hanbin as they watch the other three argue about the best canned coffee brand. “I’m glad he’s here. That effect he’s got is something the team needs, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Hanbin agrees, smiling. “It is.”

After Bobby jogs up to Donghyuk and drags him into a brotherly embrace, Hanbin throws an arm around Jinhwan, pulls him close, and looks at the evening sky.

Both he and Jinhwan send smiles to different stars that night.

 

 

 

Even if certain events may spell otherwise, Jinhwan swears that Hanbin’s very existence was imprinted with the word “leader” before “Hanbin” was ever conceived in his mother’s mind. Hanbin was born on Earth the son of his mother, then reborn in the entertainment world as a deity-in-training.

The first time Junhoe joined their dance practice, he didn’t think Hanbin was human. _“He could move mountains if he wanted to,”_ Donghyuk said once. _“Or raise them himself,”_ Yunhyeong added.

But sometimes Jinhwan thinks his own assumptions are wrong. Every now and then, he sees Earth-Hanbin resurface as that sweet human being who stops to pet stray animals on the street; who wakes up early and makes Jinhwan coffee first thing in the morning; whose half-moon eyes and sunny smile can light up any looming darkness.

Correction: Jinhwan _knows_ he’s wrong. The final confirmation arrives when he hears his door open one night to two familiar silhouettes underneath the doorframe.

Their manager is out, so Jinhwan is by himself in their shared bedroom. The only light that seeps in comes from Bobby’s phone and the reflective glint of Hanbin’s last tears, ones that can only be induced by the heavy ache of missing one’s mother. (“I would know,” Bobby told Jinhwan.)

It’s the third time something like this has happened. No one says anything anymore. Bobby’s hand rests on the back of Hanbin’s neck like a compass pointing north towards Jinhwan.

Hanbin melts into Jinhwan’s arms, into his gentle and soothing words because Jinhwan has always been good with those, and the night carries on.

An apology leaves Hanbin’s mouth like a wisp of smoke. He knows he’s ruthless in the training room; perfectionism does that to people. But that’s exactly what they need in an even more ruthless world of entertainment, and Jinhwan is thankful that Hanbin works so hard to shoulder so many people’s dreams atop of his own.

Jinhwan knows “leader” always comes after “Hanbin” even if most people have it the other way around. Before anything else Hanbin is encumbered with, Jinhwan will always see the kid growing up too fast, but with a youth that still kisses the shores of the present.

As Jinhwan loosens Hanbin’s tight grip on his waist, he feels the letters on his ring finger burn through the adhesive wrapping around it, yearning to meet their match. Jinhwan presses a thumb on the creases between Hanbin’s eyebrows, smoothing them out, and wonders whether a mortal like himself is enough for someone like Hanbin.

But Jinhwan catches his stray thoughts, sharply, and wonders why he’s even wondering such nonsense. This isn’t the time for that, especially now with rumors of a debut coursing through the YG gossip mills. So Jinhwan tries to sleep, jittery fingers tucked firmly beneath his pillow.

Unlike Hanbin, there are some things that need to stay in the dark.

 

 

 

“Hyung, how much do you love me?”

The question is sudden and unexpected at 2:17 AM, and Jinhwan thinks Bobby’s starting to have a bad influence on Hanbin.

Jinhwan tries to laugh it off as he finishes adding hot water to his instant ramen. “What are you going on about, Hanbin-ah?”

“It's a simple question.”

“Is it?” Jinhwan looks over his shoulder at his leader, slouched over the dining room table, damp and tangled hair spilling over his expectant expression. “Love is never a simple thing, you know.”

“Is this your way of avoiding giving me an answer?”

“It's my way of telling you that now’s not exactly the time. Have you checked a clock lately?”

“Lame,” Hanbin says, resting his cheek on his knuckle. “But that means there _is_ an answer, right?”

Jinhwan tries to refocus his attention – the ramen in front of him surely has more priority than that silly question – but he can still feel Hanbin’s gaze resting lazily on his back, as if perfectly aware of Jinhwan’s wavering willpower and fading hunger.

“How about this: I’ll tell you if you tell me first. You asked the question, after all.”

“Hey, that’s not how this works,” Hanbin complains, almost whiny, and Jinhwan can’t help but snicker at the sound.

“No matter how you roll the dice, I’m still your hyung,” Jinhwan reasons with a shrug, eyes sparkling with mirth under the artificial kitchen lights. “Can’t argue with the unchangeable.”

“Well, I'll have you know that I’m a firm believer in the multiverse theory.”

“What about it?”

“It means I'm _technically_ older than you somewhere.”

“Which _technically_ isn't here.”

“You are actually the biggest pooper of parties _._  Besides, imagine how interesting this would all be if I was older.”

“What are the odds that we’d even meet in other universes?”

Hanbin pauses, understandably stunned by the sudden shift in conversation, by the question’s unusual implications. Even Jinhwan’s eyes widen in surprise at his own words.

But after a breath of a thought, Hanbin simply states, “Either we’re incredibly lucky, or it was always meant to be, being together like this.”

He returns Jinhwan’s stare with an expression as unreadable as his hyung’s, a professional shield they’ve both almost perfected over the years. But the unsealed cracks are still ever-present, taunting, so the shreds of forlorn hope he feels in Hanbin’s heart remain unbearably perceptible.

“Tell you what,” Jinhwan submits, sitting across from Hanbin and pushing forward his ramen. Slivers of Hanbin’s face are swallowed by the shadows of his post-shower fringe, and Jinhwan suppresses the urge to brush them into place. “That question you asked earlier? I’ll answer it. But you have to promise me that you’ll answer it too.”

As Jinhwan holds his pinky out, he wonders why he complied when he’s barely had time to sort out his own feelings in the first place. The hustle of trainee life is a black hole for free time and burgeoning emotions.

But even worse is the quickening of his heart beat at the thought of Hanbin revealing _his_ feelings. _Maybe this wasn't such a great idea—_

“Deal.”

_Badum badum badumbadumbadum—_

Hanbin wraps his own pinky around Jinhwan’s, skin steadily connecting, every successive millimeter magnified into leaps and bounds. Ah what a trivial gesture such a thing is; what a trivial gesture this entire situation may seem. But to Jinhwan, the sheer intimacy of this symbolic promise has the heaviness of a burden he didn’t realize it could carry, and with that weight are an anxiety and excitement he can only clumsily comprehend.

They pause, letting the weights of their hands lean against each other as Jinhwan’s ring finger flares in a warm, tingling sensation. When they separate, the whorls and lines of Hanbin’s skin feel imprinted, even burned, on Jinhwan’s.

Jinhwan tries to avoid the draw of Hanbin’s gaze and concentrates on anything other than that terribly familiar fire trickling into air like hungry vines. But he’s always been too soft for his own good when it came to Hanbin.

“Love is a complicated thing, isn’t it?” Jinhwan begins slowly. “There’s no doubt that I…I love you, but what does the word ‘love’ even entail? How accurately can saying ‘I love you’ encompass the kind of love I have for you, as opposed to that I have for other people?”

“Asking more questions doesn’t exactly answer the first one.”

“Sometimes you need to answer more questions to answer another one. Not everything happens in a chronological order. Love isn’t that simple.”

“When did this turn into philosophy class with teacher Kim Jinhwan?”

He hits Hanbin lightly on the forehead, at which Hanbin grins. “Ever since you asked me to answer your silly question. Now will you let your hyung talk? Eat the ramen so you stop running your mouth.”

Hanbin complies. Jinhwan surreptitiously rubs at his ring finger.

“As I was saying, love is a complicated thing. Simply saying that I love you doesn’t quite express what I feel. To explain myself more clearly, my love for you is…is like that someone has for a childhood memory of stargazing.

“He sits on the roof of his home, wrapped in the warmth of the sea-scented air. His sister sits beside him, teaching him the constellations. He loves this memory as a starting point to return to wherever he may be. He loves the boundless possibilities of space, the guiding light of the stars, and knowing that there is a constant somewhere in his life.”

 _But he is scared of the unknown, of being lost and consumed by what he doesn’_ _t_ _understand_ _. He is scared of the darkness he cannot overcome, and the inevitable dependence he’_ _ll_ _have_ _on_ _something_ _that_ _may_ _not_ _last_ _forever_ _or_ _suddenly_ _implode_ _._

“It started with just us, and YG is undoubtedly a scary place,” Jinhwan continues softly, quietly. He sees that Hanbin has left the ramen unfinished. “I didn’t have any confidence coming in, and I’m still working on that right now to be honest. But with you in the lead, I knew from the beginning that I’d be in good hands. Even now, I know that we– that the team has a good chance of being one of the most successful bands out there. It’s…nice to be working with someone so amazingly strong-minded and creative. But I guess that doesn’t quite answer the question, does it?”

Jinhwan stills, only now digesting the meaning of his words and how much he's actually said.The silence that follows is like halting before an inhale; it's a test of his lungs' strength, or perhaps a test of their impatience for life-giving oxygen, with Hanbin as the gate keeper.

 _Oh spill your guts out, why don’_ _t_ _you_ _Kim_ _Jinhwan_ _._

Then the words come like meteors, crashing into Jinhwan's fragile orbit: “I think you answered it just fine. Thank you, hyung.”

Hanbin’s features are calm and his smile is the gentlest Jinhwan’s ever seen it, something he finds himself mirroring. For a while, they just look at each other, unmoving. Jinhwan can feel Hanbin’s foot knock against his under the table, and perhaps their heads lean in just a few degrees closer. Maybe, in the dingy environment they’re blanketed in, something indescribable becomes clearer not in their words, rather in their bodies.

But at the sound of a distant toilet flush, Jinhwan relinquishes his stare to the table and clears his throat. “Anyway, unless we’re writing lyrics, it’s way too late to be talking about love. Can you clean up for me? I’m going to bed.”

As Jinhwan heads towards the kitchen door, Hanbin calls out his name. “But you haven’t heard _my_ answer yet,” Jinhwan hears him say.

Jinhwan doesn’t turn around, but that doesn’t stop him from sensing Hanbin so very nearby.

His voice is barely audible when he says something that truly halts Jinhwan’s lungs altogether:

“I love you…I love you the way a plant loves the sun.”

Jinhwan pauses, letting a million and one thoughts run through his mind, none of which make any sense, so he merely replies with, “Thank you, Hanbin-ah. Good night.”

“Good night, hyung.”

(Later, one coherent thought arises:

 _“_ _I_ _love_ _you_ _the_ _way_ _a_ _plant_ _loves the sun.”_

_Naturally, constantly, and since the beginning of time until the end.)_

 

 

 

Leave it to Mr. Yang to spearhead profiting from self-instigated company drama. Since the trainee lifestyle is already disgustingly taxing, clearly there’s no harm in hosting a survival reality show in which trainees fight _even harder_ for debut. Jinhwan is usually tolerable of bad humor, but this joke is one he isn’t laughing at.

The night of the news, both Team A and Team B (as they are now vaguely dubbed) decide to head out for dinner before embarking on one hundred days of hardships and torn friendships, which the public will find entertaining, apparently. Jinhwan swears sajangnim bathes in the tears of his employees.

Almost everyone is excited to jump at free barbecue, courtesy of Team A, although Junhoe is dragged at the neck by Bobby to go, even if Junhoe “would much rather sleep than go out with you punks.” At this, Bobby upgrades to a headlock that sends Junhoe flailing. The girlish screams don’t help Junhoe’s cause, but at least his whining has receded much faster than usual.

Smiling at the mayhem before him, Jinhwan is more than ready to accept Taehyun’s gracious invitation up until he feels a tug at his jacket hood.

“Hey, I’m gonna head home, okay? I’m not feeling too well.”

Jinhwan can detect the deflation in Hanbin’s voice. He can hear the mix of nervousness, anticipation, and fatigue soaking Hanbin’s unusually delicate words. Last time he sounded this way, the supervisors had refused to let him see his sister on her birthday in his first year of training.

He can see something change in Taehyun’s face. There in Taehyun lies some display of empathy Jinhwan is more than thankful for in a world so scarce of it.

“I’ll make sure they bring home some leftovers,” Taehyun promises, smile as benevolent as his dinner offer.

“If there’s even leftovers in the first place. And don’t you dare let the kids touch alcohol!” Jinhwan lets himself laugh. He feels Hanbin’s grip on him tighten. “Youth can make people rather ravenous.”

Taehyun sighs, looking fondly at the others disappearing into the night. Those from Jinhwan’s team are significantly louder than those from Taehyun’s. “I suppose. But you say that so wisely despite being such a young ‘eldest hyung’, Jinhwan-ah.”

The cicadas have awakened again, harmonizing with the night breeze.

“Sorry? I don’t quite understand.”

The clouds finally release their vice-like embrace of the moon, and, through the shifting leaves of the trees nearby, patches of silver light shine upon the dull concrete. Even in the city, Mother Nature sings to them in timeless, dreamy notes.

“Take care of yourself and Hanbin, okay?” Jinhwan can see the urge of unspoken words in his friend’s eyes, but Taehyun merely confers an upturn of lips. “See you both tomorrow.”

That last sentiment settles so grittily in the air that the worry awaiting them emerges in fields of goosebumps. But the three part ways nonetheless, with Taehyun jogging to the mess of starving hyungs and dongsaengs ahead of him while Jinhwan and Hanbin head back to the dorms.

The entirety of the walk for the two is followed by a smothering, quiet atmosphere. Hanbin’s head is downcast and he’s perfectly silent. For once, Jinhwan doesn’t know what to do.

Upon reaching their dorm, Jinhwan slips out of his shoes. “Do you want to wait or should we order—”

When he turns, Hanbin is nowhere to be seen.

A little shocked, Jinhwan stands up straighter and looks around the empty living room. “Hanbin?”

Unsurprisingly, he finds Hanbin not in his own room, but in Jinhwan’s.

“Hanbin,” he states rather than calls out. He sits beside Hanbin, who is curled up in fetal position with shoulders noticeably quivering and hoodie tightly wound around his face. If the atmosphere and circumstances weren’t so bitter, Jinhwan would have teased Hanbin for adopting Bobby’s habits again.

“You didn’t have to come back with me,” Hanbin mumbles, miserable tone muffled by his hood. “You should’ve gone to dinner with everyone else.”

“You say that as if you don’t want me here,” Jinhwan says gingerly, stroking Hanbin’s head. “What’s wrong? Other than the obvious, I suppose.”

“The obvious?”

“Well, this new survival thing doesn’t sound particularly enjoyable.”

Hanbin simply groans and curls further into himself. “I hate this. I really, _really_ hate this.”

“We all do.” Jinhwan breathes a heavy breath, as if trying to blow down the wall suddenly between them. A beat of silence passes. “Yah, talk to me, Hanbin-ah.”

There goes another beat, and another. And just when Jinhwan is about to shake Hanbin to attention, he hears something quiet and short, yet heartbreaking in a familiar way:

“I’m scared.”

More silence passes in steady, agonizing seconds. Jinhwan reaches out to Hanbin again, but before his fingers can even touch the latter, Hanbin continues speaking.

“I’m so scared, hyung. We finally have this chance to reach the finish line. Everyone relies on me to lead them to places we’ve only dreamed of a-and I…I don’t want to let you guys down. I’ve pushed you all so much. And now people are going to see that! People are going to hate me – hate _us_ because of me! What if we fail? All our instructors and coaches and _sajangnim_ expect so much. How can I, as a leader…that responsibility is…I don’t know if…”

 _I don’_ _t_ _know_ _if_ _I_ _’_ _m_ _good_ _enough_ _for_ _YG_ _._

 _I don’_ _t_ _know_ _if_ _I_ _’_ _m_ _good_ _enough_ _for_ _this_ _team_ _._

 _I don’_ _t_ _know_ _if_ _I_ _’_ _m_ _goo_ _d enough._

Hanbin sounds so heart-wrenchingly broken and sad in ways Jinhwan can’t bear to vocalize lest he himself fall apart. At times like this, Jinhwan wishes there was enough space in his body to hold all of Hanbin’s burdens. He wishes his hands were as skilled as Hanbin’s to keep him together, or at least put him back together again when he falls apart.

Steeling himself in, Jinhwan loosens the jacket hoodie around Hanbin’s face to meet a reddened, youthful face. It gleams with thick tears and is framed with chunks of mussed hair. Hanbin’s breathing is choppy and peppered with small gasps, and the sight is poignantly beautiful, even with the line of snot running down Hanbin’s bitten-to-bruised lips.

Jinhwan brings a hand to Hanbin’s face and wipes it down. “I wish you could see just how amazing you are as I do,” he mutters, fingers cradling Hanbin’s cheek. “Out of all the leaders in this company, you’re the only one I’d follow without question. We’d all follow you to the ends of the Earth, Hanbin-ah, you know that.”

“I know!” Hanbin snaps, pushing Jinhwan’s hand away, but he immediately shrinks down and buries his head into his arms. “I...I know. But that’s why I’m so scared. I don't want to disappoint– I don’t want to hurt you guys more than I already do.”

Jinhwan pushes Hanbin’s hoodie down and starts petting Hanbin’s hair. _Youth today carry so much on their shoulders. But I suppose I’_ _m_ _not_ _one_ _to_ _talk_ , he thinks looking at the fresh green bandage on his finger, stark against Hanbin’s dark locks.

Jinhwan sighs and cranes his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

“Whether it’s Yunhyeong wishing he had just an ounce of the bravery and talent you possess; or Junhoe relating to you in more ways than he’d ever admit; or Donghyuk looking up to you as his role model; or Bobby having another momma’s boy be his partner in crime,” _or me never wanting to leave your side,_ “you’re an idiot for thinking that your hard work could ever disappoint us.” Jinhwan’s smile drops a little as a somber feeling flows through his body. “In actuality, I think that the most potent form of disappointment is that with oneself.”

Hanbin inhales the snot in his nose, but the obnoxious sound ironically graces Jinhwan with some repose.

The younger asks, “So what should I do?”

Jinhwan smiles that reassuring smile of his again, which is probably more so for himself at this point.

“There will most definitely be bad spells that will take over the team,” he admits, “especially during road blocks and losses. But just continue to work even harder. When bad times arise, as our leader, you must be confident in yourself and the hope you instill in us. You can’t go into battle thinking you’ll be overtaken.”

“Hyung—”

“Lead us the way you always have. Win or lose, none of us will have regrets with you in the lead because you’ve taken us so far already. We wouldn’t be this close to debut without you.”

“Hyung, I—”

“Just remember that, at the end of the day, you’re as human as the rest of us. Hell, half the team is older than you! You’re not alone in this, because we’ll support you as you’ve supported us—”

_“Hyung!”_

Hanbin’s sweaty hands are suddenly all over Jinhwan’s face and haphazardly positioned over his hyung’s mouth. Even with half his face covered, Jinhwan can still see the dazed, very embarrassed expression Hanbin is sporting. Behind Hanbin’s palm, Jinhwan grins.

“Th-thank you,” Hanbin mumbles, rosiness teasing his cheeks. “What you said…it means a lot. Really. Talking to you and listening to you always calms my nerves somehow.”

After peeling Hanbin’s hands from his face, Jinhwan smiles a smile that reaches his eyes. “Sorry, I get pretty carried away sometimes, but you're already well aware of that, huh? Let me just say that, with difficult times ahead, don’t forget your courage. You have so much. Just be more confident using it.”

“I’ll try keep that in mind.” Hanbin looks up from beneath his eyelashes, expression now evened out. Calmer. Reassured. “You never seem to run out of kind words for me, do you hyung?”

Jinhwan shrugs and pats Hanbin’s bowed head. “One lifetime certainly isn’t enough to fully express myself.”

“Who says you have only one?”

At that, Jinhwan feels moments waltz by as gravity slackens its hold on life’s hourglasses. Father Time graciously inhales the ether of dribbling sand before exhaling nice and slow.

Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, Jinhwan looks Hanbin in the eye. It’s as if he’s staring into a starry kaleidoscope of liquid glass, so wild, full of color, and every definition of temperamental. But, as he was years ago, Hanbin is quick to break that contact and inspect his crossed legs, mouth pressed tight.

“Hanbin?”

Seeing him like this, Jinhwan is taken back to when their world was still just the two of them. He remembers the good-intentioned scolding he first received from Hanbin. He remembers the rare, shy smiles and near-professional attention to detail; the molten eyes of innocence and experience; the untapped power and overwhelming nature of Hanbin’s presence.

Jinhwan remembers that day he brought Hanbin snacks after a particularly bad dance practice. The Hanbin in front of him now, on Jinhwan’s bed, somehow echoes the Hanbin he saw back then.

Or so he thinks.

Before Jinhwan even has time to react, Hanbin towers over him in a body larger, stronger, and _older_ than Jinhwan anticipated. Hanbin gazes down with eyes so deep and familiar that Jinhwan feels absolutely consumed.

 _No, you’_ _re_ _not_ _the_ _same_ _Hanbin_ _. You’_ _re_ _growing_ _up_ _._

Hanbin doesn’t hesitate to slot his lips across Jinhwan’s in an arousing sensation, one overpoweringly dedicated and purposeful, yet soft and unsure and very Hanbin-like at the same time.

All at once, Jinhwan’s senses become acute. The steady pressure of Hanbin’s lips making contact with Jinhwan’s turns into a thundering sensation of electrified nerves. Their knees touch, strands of hair intertwine, clothes shift. Jinhwan notices the shallow concentration creases between Hanbin’s eyebrows, the touch of hands on either side of Jinhwan’s face, the heat emitted from Hanbin’s skin breathing redness into his hyung’s.

Jinhwan’s mouth parts slightly, and Hanbin is all too quick to act upon this chance.

Somewhere, in the fumble of incoherent thoughts, Jinhwan thinks with a strange clarity, _ah, I know this feeling. I know it well. But how?_

With more willpower than he’d ever say aloud, Jinhwan settles his hand on Hanbin’s wrist and tugs. At the touch, Hanbin snaps his eyes open, expression immediately crestfallen, and he scrambles backwards away from Jinhwan. It’s as if a caveman discovered fire for the first time.

“I’m so so _so_ sorry, hyung. I don’t know what came over me.”

Looking away, Jinhwan furtively covers his ring finger with his other hand. In the corner of his eye, he can see Hanbin clutching onto the back of his neck.

“You’re very young, Hanbin,” Jinhwan starts softly, vaguely aware of his now-cold lips. “It’s normal for your emotions to overtake you sometimes. You’ve been through a lot.”

“But I really don’t know what happened,” Hanbin reiterates, voice potent with distress and shame. “It felt like someone took over my body, but it _wasn’_ _t_ someone else. It still felt like me, but not me at the same time. Like a different me. I just– _god_ , I’m just spouting nonsense now.”

Jinhwan feels something inside him resonate, like the string of an old instrument had been plucked in a cold, empty room. The weirdly nostalgic feeling echoes in his chest, and it’s powerful enough to make Jinhwan pull Hanbin into his arms.

 _Am I doing this? Am I being overtaken by someone as well? Or_ _is_ _this_ _just_ _me this time_ _?_

“I– you have to try and clear your mind until this is all over.” Jinhwan rests his chin on Hanbin’s head, and he senses Hanbin breathe more measuredly. “There’s always another time to think with your heart, but now is the time to think with your head. Okay?”

For a while they stay like that. The oft-shared embrace between them is still comforting and warm, even with what just happened. And, after what seems like a very long time, Hanbin decides to pull back from Jinhwan and look him squarely in the eye.

_Is that advice only for me?_

Jinhwan smiles forlornly.

 _It’_ _s_ _advice_ _for_ _all_ _of_ _u_ _s._

“Hanbinnie! Hyung! We have _food!_ Get up before I eat it all!”

“Don’t yell so loudly! The other trainees are gonna scold us!”

“Screw the other trainees! We just had free barbecue! And I’ll be having more if those two don’t get their _asses to the dining room!”_

“Isn’t draining Minho’s wallet crime enough? Eating more is just cruel.”

“Don’t get smart with me Dongh– hey! Get back here!”

“Oi! Stop running around and help me with June! He’s too heavy and gross when he’s passed out drunk—”

_Taehyun you dick._

“I guess that’s our cue to finally eat,” Jinhwan announces quietly, chuckling. He lightly ruffles Hanbin’s hair before standing up. “Dinner time, Hanbin-ah.”

The younger of the two nods wordlessly and gets up in the same noiseless fashion. When Hanbin reaches the door of Jinhwan’s room, his hand is on the back of his neck again, but he isn’t rubbing it anymore.

“I’m learning to trust my courage,” he says, unwavering in his words and stance. He looks at Jinhwan again, but with a nascent smile in his dark, concentrated stare. “Soon, because of hyung, I’ll be confident in that trust.”

Then he exits the room without another utterance, leaving Jinhwan behind with a rapidly beating heart and overheated skin.

In the midst of the distant banter, Jinhwan brings his fingers, one of which is numb at this point, to his slightly parted lips. They barely brush against the heat of his skin, now tender, ravished, and pitifully aching for more.

 

 

 

( _Camera 18, Kim Hanbin:_

_3:10 AM_

“…Junhoe and Donghyuk don’t even attend school anymore. We’ve always just been here…”

_3:11 AM_

“…The way I think about it is that there won’t be a next time. We have to bring out everything that we’ve got…”

_3:12 AM_

“…If we don’t win, I don’t think it will ever work out…”)

 

 

 

A couple weeks and one evaluation into filming, Jinhwan finds himself sitting with Donghyuk in the corner of the training room. It’s their break, but Hanbin’s attitude has become especially resolute after getting some biting critiques from Mr. Yang, so Yunhyeong isn’t granted freedom yet. Bobby, Junhoe, and their manager (at Junhoe’s desperate plea to not be alone with Bobby) have left to buy food.

“Someone took the CEO's words a little hard,” Donghyuk remarks as he and Jinhwan watch Yunhyeong wheeze, knocked out of breath, with Hanbin sternly barking orders beside him.          

Jinhwan takes a sip from his water bottle and sighs. “Believe or not, there’s a lot more riding on this show for him than for any of us.”

Tilting his head, Donghyuk asks, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ll explain it like this: within a team, sajangnim likes to switch around the leadership position to see who suits it best. You’ve seen it with Team A. But, for us, Hanbin’s always been the leader.”

Said leader has Yunhyeong paused at a particularly difficult position so he can adjust the angle of Yunhyeong’s arms and back.

“Did he– does he get special treatment then?”

“Only if you consider fewer frowns a privilege.”

Hanbin wipes sweat from his brow as he vocalizes the song and fixates on Yunhyeong’s posture. He's wearing a particularly pinched expression.

“To be honest, ever since I could remember, he’s been trained more rigorously than the others,” Jinhwan says, feeling more tired just looking at Hanbin. “He was an investment they knew would pay off, so they groom him accordingly.”

“I see. I guess all _that_ ,” Donghyuk gestures vaguely at Hanbin’s general intensity, “makes sense.”

Yunhyeong is now doing the routine from the start. For a moment, there is a blip in Hanbin’s control over his own attention – Jinhwan sees it in the mirror when his eyes meet Hanbin’s – but brief is the word as their leader’s gaze is taken back by Yunhyeong’s slouch.

“He knows how much the company favors him. Lots of trainees disliked him because of that.” A barely-there smile appears on Jinhwan’s face. “But I’m glad he’s as driven and hardworking as he is now. He’s grown so much.”

The music blares loudly in the background.

“You sound like you’ve known him for a long time, hyung.”

But the thumps of rubber and body weight against wood are even louder.

“I’d like to think so. I’ve been there since the beginning,” Jinhwan says, regarding Hanbin a little longer before looking away. “I’ve seen the good, the bad, and the ugly. We were even partners before Bobby butted in, as per his specialty.”

“Ah, so does that mean you’ve seen Hanbin’s soul m—”

“Greetings everyone!”

The conversation between the eldest and second youngest is cut short by _speak of the devil_ Bobby’s grand entrance. There are stained-red plastic bags held proudly in outstretched hands and a tired Junhoe following their manager, who almost entertains feeling bemusement.

“We have arrived bearing sustenance! Bow before me to receive your gifts!” Jinhwan doesn’t hesitate to get up and smack Bobby’s head while Donghyuk grabs the food.

“Wah, Yunhyeong’s dancing has improved so much,” their manager comments as the performance fades to an end. “It’s only been how long since we left? Twenty minutes?”

“Hanbin is – _hah_ sorry, out of breath – he’s magic, I tell you. _Magic,_ ” Yunhyeong says from where he’s collapsed onto the floor. “He’s just like Jinhwan.”

“Huh?” Jinhwan’s surprise is garbled by the half-chewed deokkbokki in his mouth. “Me?”

Shrugging, Yunhyeong explains, “I wouldn’t be praised so much by the voice trainers without your help. Likewise with dance and performance without Hanbin. Even though you guys have totally different personalities, you’re so dedicated to helping us improve – almost like parents.”

Bobby’s laugh is booming in the training room, and Jinhwan realizes that age really doesn’t help to suppress color from rushing to his ears.

“I guess it’s weird for me to say that since I’m so old already, but I have to admit, you and Hanbin have a pretty killer synergy.”

“I feel left out,” Bobby quips suddenly, frowning and aggressively pointing a toothpick at Yunhyeong. “What am I, leftover rice?”

“No, you’re the annoying uncle who makes inappropriate jokes and flirts with younger girls,” Junhoe butts in. This effectively incurs Bobby’s wrath, which takes one worried Donghyuk and one exasperated manager to mitigate.

Jinhwan dares another glance at Hanbin, who is treating the whole situation rather calmly. He’s chatting with the PD’s assistant about this week’s schedule while wiping away the narrow rivers of sweat running down his face. His white tank is a canvas of gray splotches and his black snapback is frayed and faded. _He still has that old thing._

Then, as if Jinhwan’s little thought was the key, he finally sees it.

The motion is fleeting, casual, and unremarkable in every way considering how long they’ve lived with each other’s habits. And for two long years, Jinhwan has let the hardships of training and the needs of the team overwhelm every crevice of his brain in hopes of stifling his personal desires.

But now, for some god forsaken reason, he’s firmly paused at the movement of Hanbin’s graceful fingers. Jinhwan watches a set from one hand deftly lifts the snapback with practiced ease, a movement memorized in the sinews of Hanbin’s ever-changing muscles, to allow the leader’s other hand to comb through his sweaty strands. Jinhwan’s eyes loyally follow the movement to its end at the elegant junction between Hanbin’s hairline and nape.

O _h god I’_ _m_ _such_ _a_ _creep_ _, aren’_ _t_ _I_ _?_ _What_ _happened_ _to_ _setting_ _an_ _example_ _for_ _my dongsaengs? What would Mom and Dad say and_ _why does my mark feel weird again—_

When he sees it, Jinhwan’s spiraling thoughts evaporate immediately.

The damp flesh of Hanbin’s neck houses a small but distinct enough shape once noticed. It’s black and solid and exudes preposterous confidence, an inky blotch of skin with an almost supernatural aura, even from the distance Jinhwan is vaguely seeing it. It tells Jinhwan _“_ I belong here _”_ with a voice totally unlike Hanbin; the pitch is higher and sweeter.

But before Jinhwan can take a closer look, the snapback returns to Hanbin’s head again, his hair flops back over his soul mark _because that’_ _s_ _what_ _it_ _is_ _isn_ _’_ _t_ _it_ , and the fleeting, casual, and very much remarkable moment is over.

Hanbin turns to look at Jinhwan, who quickly rectifies his slumped stance, and flashes his hyung a grin in simple acknowledgement.

 _Does he know I was looking? Does he know I’_ _ve_ _seen_ _it_ _?_

Now a cameraman is calling for recording to resume in five. The manager scrambles to clean up the team’s mess. Jinhwan hears Yunhyeong scolding Junhoe somewhere behind him.

A hand that settles on Jinhwan’s shoulder immediately resurrects him from the limbo in head. “Hyung?” Donghyuk’s voice is refreshing against the buzz of background noise. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, Jinhwan says, “I’m just trying to gather myself. There’s a lot to think about lately.”

“That’s for sure. By the way, did you eat enough? Bobby went kind of crazy with the deokkbokki even though he bought it.”

“I did, don’t worry. It’s just that spice and dancing don’t exactly make for a fun stomach party.”

“Damn, and it’s Junhoe’s turn to clean the bathroom this week, too. Joking! Anyway, I had a question to ask you from earlier before Bobby interrupted.”

“Ah, sure.”

“Well, you’ve been around Hanbin for a while, right? Have you ever seen his soul mark? Do you know what it looks like?”

Images from earlier hit each of Jinhwan’s vertebrae with icy precision.

“Yunhyeong never stops talking to me about his,” Donghyuk continues, tone innocently kind and amused. “And you should hear Junhoe around the stylists…”

“I don’t recall what Hanbin’s mark is, actually.” The lie is cool on his tongue, but the fresh memory is searing with clarity. “There’s been too much to focus on to think about that kind of stuff, at least between me and Hanbin.”

“I see. How about yours then, hyung? Can I see it?”

“You’re becoming a nosy fellow like old uncle Bobby over there,” Jinhwan says with feigned humor. “Where’s the fun in giving the answer to the mystery right away?”

“He’s right. The satisfaction comes from the chase.”

Hanbin’s eyes are amicable yet challenging behind Donghyuk, sporting a fire Jinhwan hasn’t seen in the longest time. Hanbin pulls Donghyuk with him to join the others before Jinhwan’s breathing can normalize.

Camera lenses vibrate to life and a dozen mechanical eyes are focused on them once more. Jinhwan feels more vulnerable and robbed of privacy than ever. Wasn't he the hyung around here? What happened? It’s unfair how he always finds himself in this lonely cliffhanger of a situation.

“Five minutes are up! Get ready everyone!”

Ready is surely the last thing Jinhwan will ever be.

 

 

 “I thought I’d find you here.”

“What…gave you…that idea?”

“My ‘Hanbin is overworking himself to death’ radar has been flawless, don’t you know?”

“I do…unfortunately…”

“I swear this recording room has seen your face more than your own bedroom. Let’s go home. You’re tired.”

“Why are _you_ …up so late?”

_“Ah, noona, it’s been a while! How are you—”_

“Is that…Junhoe…outside?”

“Yeah, we went out for dinner– woah hey, careful. You almost fell out of your chair.”

“Who…asked…who?”

“What?”

“Did you ask…Junhoe…out?”

“Yeah, he’s been really lonely now that his sister is in school and his mom’s employed again– _oh my god!_ June! Help me carry Hanbin home! He fainted again! Hey, hang in there, keep talking to me– Hanbin? _Hanbin—_ ”

 

 

Behind the scenes, the next day is filled with a torrent of harsh criticisms that assault them without warning. “Surprised” is too diluted a word to describe it.

Their dance routine is excessively chaotic and tries too hard to be impressive. The vocals are lacking unity, character, and overall skill. The raps are uninspired and weak. The team is depressingly short on the youthful edginess it used to be praised for. The team leader is driving everyone’s potential into a wall, as it were.

No one is enjoying the sickeningly depressing effects of the staff’s austerity, but Hanbin takes each curt rebuke to heart the most. He’s always been the type to blow up the most minute of things to proportions beyond their actual intentions.

Jinhwan can see it in the familiar tremble of his shoulders, in the twiddling of his fingers and the harsh scratch lines on his skin during his nightly visits to Jinhwan’s room. But even those have become few and far in between.

Jinhwan tries to approach Hanbin about the criticisms, just as he’s done in the past, but the latter only flashes him a plastic smile Jinhwan is too weak to call him out on.

“Only up from here, I guess, right hyung?”

 _Don’_ _t_ _try_ _to_ _be_ _strong_ _for_ _us_ _all_ _the_ _time_ _,_ _Hanbin_ _-_ _ah_ _,_ Jinhwan pleads in his mind, wishing desperately to vocalize what he really means.

“We’ll do better next time.”

 _Please. Please, you’_ _re_ _too_ _young for this._

“As the team’s leader, I’ll make sure of it.”

Jinhwan swallows and presents a faltering smile. “I…yes, I know you can.”

Days later, when the criticisms don’t stop, Hanbin stops coming to Jinhwan’s room altogether.

At first, Jinhwan suspects it’s because Hanbin has been working every fiber of his being to restructure all of their performances, and to a great degree of success. But even with everything solid for their next evaluation, nothing seems to change.

He still sees Hanbin around the dorm and trainee building, dark circles darker and pale skin paler, but he never looks at Jinhwan with anger or intent. In fact, he hardly looks at Jinhwan anymore.

For many nights, Jinhwan can’t help but feel empty in his small bed.

 

 

 

One afternoon, Jinhwan finds Yunhyeong and Donghyuk in the living room.

“Hey guys, have you seen Hanbin?”

Donghyuk shakes his head. “We’d usually be asking _you_ that, hyung. He always tells you when he leaves, doesn’t he?”

Yunhyeong looks thoughtful. “I remember him saying something about ‘finishing up some stuff.’ But I guess that’s not very helpful.”

Donghyuk nods. “He brought his thinking hat with him too – you know, that black one he always has. Must be serious.”

Yunhyeong looks to Jinhwan, worried. “Are you going to talk to him?”

“…actually, I think it would be better to give him space. The days haven’t really been in our favor lately. Thanks anyway, you two.”

 

 

( _Camera 18, Kim Hanbin:_

_2:18 AM_

“…I promised Jinhwan that I’d be confident and trust my courage, that the team would do better next time. But why can’t I follow through? I just can’t be confident in _his_ trust in me…”

_3:02 AM_

“…He’s probably marked with someone else...”

_4:49 AM_

“…What am I to hyung? To this company? To the audience? I don’t even know who I am to myself…Shit. Dear editors, please delete everything I’ve said today.”)

 

 

Going to Jeju was the last thing any of them had in mind, but the PD insisted that doing so would help move the show along. In the next episode, there will be a short segment about three longest-standing members of Team B. It seemed like a hospitable veil for their instructors’ uncertainty over the other three, who are being held back for _extra_ _hard_ extra training.

Hanbin is oddly compliant despite his arguments beforehand; he’s a basket case for Stockholm Syndrome when work is his master. But luckily Bobby is an expert at keeping Hanbin occupied. Hanbin even has his most believable smile on camera, one Jinhwan thinks will eventually become something sincere.

Despite all the bumps faced so far, for the first time, Jinhwan is glad to be in this miserable show. They’ve been granted the vacation they needed, even with Hanbin’s complaints in between camera batteries.

But as maudlin as the scent of sea water is, or as magnificent as an evening freckled with constellations can be, any feeling of ease is short-lived for Jinhwan.

“His soul mark? Yeah I’ve seen it before.”

It’s almost midnight when Jinhwan corners Bobby on the patio, overlooking an endless carpet of salty waves. He’s been waiting for Bobby since the rapper left for the nearest vending machine.

“I saw it maybe last year? A year and a half ago? I don’t know, something like that.”

It’s almost irritating how casually Bobby admits it.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” Jinhwan exclaims more than asks. He massages his temples and waves a dismissive hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice like that.”

For all intents and purposes, Jinhwan has always underestimated Bobby’s omniscience, so he really should have expected Bobby to already know.

With a cough to clear the air, Jinhwan asks, “Well, uh, how did you find out?”

“I asked him about it when I fixed his hair one day. Since it’s hard to spot in the first place, he probably never would’ve known about it himself if I didn’t tell him. I’m honestly surprised you only saw it recently. When?”

“A while back during filming,” Jinhwan confesses, clearly in some state of anguish. “I didn’t get a good look at it though. Do you know what it is? Does it say anything?”

Bobby shrugs. “Since Hanbinnie’s pretty private about it, he’s only let me see it once. I can’t really remember it anymore, though I remember it being really generic-looking.”

At that, Bobby twists open the green tea drink in his hand.

“You’re not being very helpful here.”

Bobby drinks with pronounced _glugglugglug_ -ing sounds, then exhales gradually and deliberately. “Well, you’re not exactly helping yourself either, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Have you ever thought of, oh _I don’t know_ , asking him about his mark yourself?” Jinhwan dislikes how distinctive Jiwon’s features become under the starlight. “It’s not that hard.”

“Well, it’s not that simple,” Jinhwan counters tartly. “I can’t distract him with stupid ideas of destiny and soul marks. He has too many responsibilities right now. _I_ have too many responsibilities right now.”

“You think the rest of us don’t either?”

“That’s not what I meant. Plus, some stuff happened and—”

“And who are you? His mother? ‘No’ is the answer, by the way.” With another chug of his drink, Jiwon scoffs, smirk unapologetic. “Give Hanbinnie more credit. I know just how long you’ve been putting this all off. You’re running yourself and Hanbin in a circle, hyung. Think of how this is affecting the team.”

“Thinking of the team is exactly what I’m trying to do.” Jinhwan frowns. He’s really getting annoyed this time. “Geez, what is up with you today?”

“Can’t the fun guy be serious sometimes? I can’t be all _haha let me help you escape your problems with my goofiness_ twenty-four seven.”

Jinhwan takes a good look at Jiwon this time, at his now-monstrous height and body. Everyone is growing up too fast, leaving behind Jinhwan. It kind of hurts.

“You guys overthink so much that my brain hurts just being around you two. You both used to be more honest and straightforward with the rest of us and each other.”

“Right now, it’s safer to overthink than to not. As the oldest and the leader, that’s our job.”

“Sounds like our lead dancer and choreographer have forgotten the fun of youth, more like. No wonder the dance teachers thinks we’ve lost our spark.”

“Life is not that simple, Jiwon-ah—”

“Life, friendships, and love are a lot simpler if you let them be.” Jiwon returns to a more tender cadence, as if cradling those three things with his voice. _“God_ you guys are two sides of one coin. Destiny says that you guys are going to collide at some point anyway, so why wait?”

“Have you even seen how stressed he is lately?”

“To be honest, we haven’t really seen him at all.”

Jinhwan rolls his eyes at the unnecessary comment. “Crossing that line at this point will only hinder him, the team, and our chances of winning this stupid show. Hanbin will self-destruct if he thinks an endgame loss for us is his fault, which you know is what he’ll think. I can’t distract him.”

“Someone’s gotten a little overconfident.”

Jinhwan raises an eyebrow, definitely feeling angry this time. “What?”

“You think you know him so well, don’t you? Being with him for so long doesn’t mean you get every side of him. That’s not how people work, you know.” Jiwon tosses his empty bottle in the nearby trashcan with more force than necessary. “I room with him every day. I’m pretty sure he’s already on the way to self-destruction. We’ve just been pretty good at delaying it.”

Jinhwan’s expression turns stony and hard as his hands tighten into nervous fists. “What are you trying to say?”

“You heard what sajangnim said,” Jiwon replies, monotone. “The team who loses might not be together anymore after the show.”

 _Loses–_ _n_ _ot be together—_

“First, Hanbin’s father leaves his family. Next, Hanbin himself leaves his mother and sister at a young age. Then, he thinks the team is losing the chance to debut because of him. And _now_ he believes he’s going to lose _us_. He’s losing control of so many things, and you know how bad he handles losing.”

 _Family– himself– lose us_ _—_

“He cried himself to sleep lately. He doesn’t want you to see him when he loses control of himself. He’s probably terrified of losing more than what he already has.”

Jinhwan releases a breath staggered with tears he doesn’t notice until then. He leans his head against Bobby. “Why would he do that? Does he not trust me? I’ve told him so many times already—”

Bobby wraps an arm around him, and Jinhwan just falls to his chest, weak and dull. “He’s just scared of losing you the most. Be patient. Be open with him again. You’ve been there since the beginning, haven’t you?”

“I have. _I have,_ ” Jinhwan repeats pathetically, a cold and sickening disappointment washing over his bones. “But all I’ve done is become arrogant, thinking I could predict everything about him. I’ve distanced myself, haven't I? God, I’m trying so hard to grow up for him, for the team. I’m scared and overly cautious and not a good enough hyung.”

“You really sound just like him.” Bobby hugs him tighter when he feels Jinhwan finally let himself go. “Set things straight with Hanbinnie. Whatever lives you’ve lived or will live, he’ll hear you a million times, but he’ll never get tired of you. He’ll never stop clinging to his precious Jinhwan.”

 

The next morning on a car ride to the other side of the island, Jinhwan rests his head on Hanbin’s shoulder. Hanbin tenses immediately at the forgotten touch, but Jinhwan eventually feels the familiar weight of Hanbin resting against him. The car smells like a memory.

Like home.

Jinhwan recalls Bobby yelling “Hanbin cuddle party time!” at some point and throwing himself on top of both of him and Hanbin, to both their annoyance and amusement.

At that moment, somehow, the world becomes just a little more right again.

 

 

Days pass both quickly and dreadfully slowly.

The hustle and bustle of preparation becomes a blinding haze. Sleep deprivation is a phantom limb of heavy eye-bags and weaker bodies.

Jinhwan didn’t expect Hanbin to abate in being so _Hanbin_ , especially with the first official round hungrily waiting around the corner. Everything is just as intense (and more) as Jinhwan expected. Gone were not Hanbin’s all-nighters or tantrums or undue irritation; certainly not the hurricane critiques or destructive self-doubt. None of these things he could cure, Jinhwan eventually understands, for he is too human and flawed to grant such a miracle. But, as simply Kim Jinhwan, he has welcoming arms, kind words, and the most reassuring of smiles, which are more than enough to soothe Hanbin’s fires like they did long before.

It's now several days after the Jeju trip. After their last practice performance, the whole team crawls into the evening less than 24 hours away from their first D-day. Junhoe and their manager are more than happy passing out before Yunhyeong can take out a cooking pan, while Bobby and Donghyuk are intertwined in a mess of exhausted limbs, waiting for the holy sound of the dinner call.

Perhaps it’s because Jinhwan has lost himself while counting down the numbered days, but he’s thrown off-guard when he sees Hanbin in his room. The manager is too deep in the throes of sleep the hear them.

“Hyung. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

All of a sudden, Jinhwan becomes overwhelmed at the sight of Hanbin sitting on the elder’s bed as if it were his own. Jinhwan melts at the sound of Hanbin calling out to him this late at night, with a voice so tender and comfortable and _familiar_ that countless memories become a waterfall of warmth. It isn’t until he feels arms around his thighs that Jinhwan realizes he’s embracing Hanbin and pressing Hanbin’s head to his stomach.

“I’ve missed you, Hanbin-ah. So, so much.”

The rumble of air at Jinhwan’s torso accompanies the sound of a laugh. “But I’m always here.”

Jinhwan wraps his body even more around Hanbin, eyes shut tight and clamping his tears in place. “I mean here, like this, with _me_.”

Hanbin’s arms tighten around Jinhwan. Even at the tingling of his finger, Jinhwan doesn’t loosen Hanbin’s increasingly secure hold, nor does he bother with restraining his smile.

“I’ve missed this – _you_ – too. I’m sorry.”

 _I love this –_ you _– hyung._

“Me too,” Jinhwan says with exhaustion, relief, and happiness. “Me too.”

 

 

The last few weeks were not met without disappointment.

Loss was an inevitability they’ve probably evaded too long. Things become worse when too much becomes lost in translation between raw video to editing to screen. Donghyuk and Yunhyeong are much more competent than painted, while Junhoe is not as argumentative or petulant. Though he and Bobby lucked out, Jinhwan thinks they’re still walking on eggshells.

But nobody is as badly affected as Hanbin. He’s become a horned caricature of his biting perfectionism and aggression. After watching previous episodes, Jinhwan can only see a satanic cape slung over Hanbin’s young, weary shoulders.

Hanbin is no angel, they know, but who could blame him? The show took a toll on everyone, if Bobby’s souring attitude and Jinhwan’s bouts of severe frustration behind the camera are any indication. However, in the end, what Hanbin makes up for in his creativity and hawk-eye for detail, he lacks in camera etiquette and strategic awareness for variety. Such is the painful reality of their industry.

“This is entertainment, kid. Deal with it.” That’s what the main editor tells Jinhwan. “Every show needs some bad characters. But at least he’s with Mr. Yang.”

Hanbin would probably feel affronted if he heard that.

As expected, many things have been swept under a silent rug: the bitter envy of loss, the sour anticipation of an uncertain future, the sweet sorrow of too-belated confessions. Sometimes they all just spend nights together, mattresses huddled in the living room, staring at the ceiling in exhausted, post-training silence. It’s scary to think they might not be able to do this again.

And so Jinhwan decides not to waste what little time he might have left.

At a little past two in the morning, Jinhwan returns from vocal practice to see Hanbin in the living room. He’s lying on the couch on his front and supported by his elbows, ensconced under a blanket with the glow of a tablet ethereal against the rough and faraway snores.

It's just like Hanbin to write at such an ungodly hour and calm his nerves. But Jinhwan, too tired to scold, simply divests himself of everything but his undershirt and boxers, tosses his clothes onto the coffee table, and crawls under the blanket to drape himself over Hanbin’s back. He nips at Hanbin’s naked shoulder, its stiffness melting immediately at the touch.

“Hey,” Hanbin murmurs, the ends of his lips sloping upwards. “I was onto something, you know. But now I’ve forgotten.”

Jinhwan flattens a cheek to Hanbin’s shoulder blade, voice as exhausted as the rest of his body. “You’re usually a rock when it comes to writing.”

“Got distracted.”

“ _Cheesy.”_

“I’ve missed you.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Jiwon’s snores have been getting louder these days, but good guess.”

“ _Deng deng –_ wrong answer.”

“Kidding, kidding.” Hanbin’s voice lowers, becomes more careful and anxious at the same time. “I really did miss you.”

Jinhwan lets himself flush in the dark living room. “I was out for only a bit. But I guess any moment can be too long nowadays, huh?”

Hanbin doesn’t reply.

“I’m always here, for you, _with_ you,” Jinhwan says gently, peppering soft kisses onto Hanbin’s neck. He indulges in a pause to admire the distinct, heart-shaped stamp there, one perfectly mirroring the one gracing Jinhwan’s own cheek.

Jinhwan lets Hanbin flip himself and set the device aside before settling onto Hanbin’s chest. Jinhwan murmurs, “It’s 2:17 AM. You need to sleep.”

“I was struck with some inspiration for an old piece.” This statement is followed by the slide of Hanbin’s hand through Jinhwan’s hair, tugging their faces closer. “I needed to write things down as soon as possible.”

Jinhwan grins, face warming. “Show me?”

Hanbin easily complies with a quiet sample, “‘My shattered dreams, it was hard to patch them again. Finally, I am where I am now, and you are still beautiful. Long time no see. I’ve missed you a lot’…I actually wrote that a long time ago. When we were new trainees and you left for the convenience store after that bad dance practice.”

“Did you now?”

“You can say it’s gained more momentum over the years.”

“Well, it certainly gets the heart fluttering, though I can’t say I’m not biased.” Jinhwan grabs the tablet, scrolling carefully, eyes fixated on the lyrics. “‘I got lost on the way to see you’… ‘Be with me forever, I will stand by you’…”

Hanbin kisses Jinhwan soft and silent, hand resting on Jinhwan’s neck just below his hairline. Their bodies adjust until they fit just right, and laughs are exchanged like a secret currency only they can use. Hanbin runs his thumb over Jinhwan’s mole with affectionate reverence.

“Sorry, got a little overwhelmed when you said all that.”

“Your fans would lose their minds if they knew just how cheesy you are.”

“Fans?”

“Yes, _fans_. Also, I hope we can perform this song on stage one day. Maybe it could be in one of our albums too. That’d be pretty amazing.”

“Our albums?”

“Like fans, they’re kind of a must for any successful band.”

“…Successful band?”

Jinhwan bops Hanbin on the forehead, grin unquenchable. “Clearly you need to keep your aspirations in check because they’re just so out of this world, aren’t they?”

“Hey wait– ah, no, not the bellybutton! You know I’m ticklish there! Shitshit _shit—_ ”

 

 

 

_Long time no see._

_How have you been?_

_You’ve waited too long._

_I won’t go anywhere._

 

 

Out of all the things Jinhwan wishes he could have, it would be closure. No one would disagree; closing things signifies the end of something whole. With finality comes the pleasure of having lived through the experience and its wholeness. But life, the stupid mess it is, can’t stand such a peaceful notion.

Then again, Jinhwan knows more than anyone that the journey doesn’t stop at the finish line, nor does it end when the story runs out of words. Life, at its essence, is an endless cycle of chasing.

Even so, it is with that purpose that Jinhwan finds comfort and stability in this lifetime, and in many others full of the arbitrary and terrifying.

When their manager announces the start of a new survival show, everyone understands now why they’re being treated so lavishly for dinner. It takes a lot for Bobby to lose his appetite for barbecue, but such news does just the trick.

Jinhwan finds Hanbin already looking at him, tired but with familiar determination in those dark, molten eyes of his. _God,_ he really is one of the most beautiful stars Jinhwan’s ever seen. Hanbin is ready to join the royal constellations, to be admired by the rest of the world after being burdened by the earth and heavens for so long, and Jinhwan is more than ready to help him achieve that.

After the announcement, for some reason, they both smile at each other.

Jinhwan lays a hand over the back of Hanbin’s neck, and Hanbin places his hand over Jinhwan’s, rubbing over Jinhwan's ring finger. The warmth emanating from their soul marks pulses gently to the rhythm of their heart beats.

_Ready?_

_If I’m with you, always._

 

**Author's Note:**

> *accidentally spills dozens of Bobby/Jinhwan pictures from pockets* This isn't want it looks like _I swear._
> 
> Drop me a comment if you have the time and say hello! I'm still trying to understand how this site works. ╰(▔∀▔)╯
> 
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> 
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